


brain is in the back seat (heart's in drive)

by iPhone



Series: now i see daylight [5]
Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Drama, F/F, First Kiss, High School, Mention Of Homophobia, Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:13:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24173401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iPhone/pseuds/iPhone
Summary: Life has a way of not working out like the movies. Not like Beca likes movies anyway.
Relationships: Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell
Series: now i see daylight [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1625614
Comments: 55
Kudos: 196





	brain is in the back seat (heart's in drive)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "the movies" by Nightly. Unbeta'd. Thanks Chloe for bouncing ideas around with me in our lil universe. I still hate this one-shot though.

**LOCATION:** Brookline, MA  
**MONTH:** March  
**AGE:** 15/16

* * *

Beca hates movies, so it makes sense that she’s kind of getting the feeling that her life is turning out like one.

After the Winter Formal, Beca kind of just wants things to go back to normal, not that she really has a baseline for that anymore.

It also doesn’t really help that she has to endure _Valentine’s Day_ amidst all her peers. If there’s something people never really grow out of, it’s the excessive gift giving and over-emphasis on the quantity of candy grams received in one’s locker on that specific day.

...And it further didn’t help that Beca had quickly shoved the Valentine’s card she had been planning to give to Chloe into her own locker upon seeing Tom walk down the fall with his arm snugly around Chloe’s shoulder, a small bouquet of roses pressed into her arms. Beca had thought it inappropriate at the time—figured Chloe didn’t need _extra_ Valentines when she was so obviously taken...even though it had been their tradition for _years_.

And of course, the fact that Chloe hadn’t given her a valentine either. That was telling enough. Not that Beca gave her much reason to, with how much avoiding she had been doing since January.

That February break that follows immediately after is one of the most relaxing breaks Beca has ever experienced. She spends most of it sparsely replying to texts from Chloe and begrudgingly visiting her father and his family for the short break.

It’s the time apart (again) that really only cements that the nauseating feeling in her stomach is because she’s not getting over her feelings for one Chloe Beale anytime soon.

The more selfish part of her—the part entirely consuming her heart—doesn’t really _want_ to give up on her feelings, but the rational part—somewhere between her heart and her head—knows that she’s just setting herself up for more heartbreak, if the Instagram updates from Chloe _and_ Tom are any indication. It’s horrible, really because they’re not even _together_ in person. Beca knows this solely because she knows Chloe’s family takes a trip to Stowe every February break for a ski trip.

It’s like the social media back and forth is just designed to _hurt_ her. The little comments they leave on each other’s photos. The hearts. The inside-joke emojis.

She knows rationally that her thoughts are spiralling and it’s entirely untrue that Chloe would ever want to hurt her purposefully. It’s just that, well, Beca wouldn’t _blame_ her. She knows that her avoidance of Chloe over the past few weeks has been more than obvious and less than desirable.

So when Beca sits down with her father and his _new_ family, the sensation of being replaced never really gets old even if she knows that she has no real right to feel that way. But it’s hard, looking around her and feeling so out of place, and then _knowing_ that when she returns home, the one person who she had always considered the literal embodiment of home is also starting a new segment of her life in which Beca has no real place.

And even sitting in her father’s home in New Haven, she imagines what it would be like to blurt out that she’s in love with her best friend—a _girl_ —simply to see the disdain cross his face like a shadow. It would be enough to make her forget about her current plight. Plus, she’s just so tired of feeling like shit all the time.

She sees it, in all honesty. Like her mind has two screens, she sees the mildly foggy memory of her father saying something disparaging against homosexuality on one screen while the other gleefully rolls imagined footage of Beca sweeping his pretentious dishes off his dining table and declaring her love for her best friend, the very girl she grew up next two for the past eleven years.

Still, as appealing as that sounds and looks, she bites her tongue and listens to her father spout off something about psychology or some other academic topic that Beca has zero interest in. She _would_ normally be texting Chloe, but she just can’t bring herself to pick up the phone.

Chloe doesn’t text her either.

It all _sucks_.

February break _sucks._

 _She_ sucks.

Her thoughts follow her all the way back home to the desolate wasteland she calls home (classic Boston-in-February weather) where her mother (shockingly) greets her with a hug and the promise of a sit-down meal. The thought warms her for a moment before Beca remembers that her mom probably just feels _guilty_ without really wanting to _do_ anything. Not even apologize for being absent. Emotionally distant. Neglectful. Beca’s sure the list could go on.

As she sits at the dinner table thinking about a myriad of things floating around her mind in an attempt to distract herself including the dreaded first day back at school, the assignments she should probably work on, seeing Chloe again—

Her fingers twitch towards her phone on instinct.

She draws back with a flinch, resisting the urge to mindlessly text Chloe even though it’s what she wants most in the world at the moment. Quickly, she spares a glance at her mother who hasn’t looked up from her own plate.

With a sigh, Beca furrows her brow and returns to staring sullenly at the table until it is an appropriate enough time to retreat to her room.

The next day passes without incident. Beca decides to walk to school early instead of catching a ride from Chloe’s brother like she normally would. She’s not sure what the point is. Chloe will just figure out a way to corner her later regardless.

Even with that in mind, Beca isn’t expecting to see Chloe sitting on her bed when she opens her bedroom door. In fact, she’s kind of expecting her room to be exactly as she left it that morning before heading out for school—empty, her bed unmade, and cold.

But now—

“What are you doing here?” Beca asks, harsher than she intends. She swallows, willing herself to reign in her emotions as best as she can.

“Your mom let me in,” Chloe says softly. Her palms glide briefly over Beca’s bedspread before she’s pushing herself off the bed and moving awkwardly to the middle of Beca’s bedroom. “I…hope that’s okay?” she asks hesitantly, like she is no longer sure of her place in Beca’s house; in Beca’s life.

Beca steadies her grip on her backpack for a moment before dropping it to the floor unceremoniously. “It’s fine,” she says finally, trying to ignore the way her heart pulls and tugs at the mere sight of Chloe—Chloe, out of her school clothes and wearing comfortable loungewear. Chloe, with her hair down instead of up in a ponytail. Chloe, whose lips are slowly spreading into a hesitant smile. “I just…” Beca blinks, turning to walk to her desk quickly to be safe. Distant. “Why are you here?” she asks again, softer.

“I…” Chloe takes a deep breath, but she thankfully does not seem to move closer to Beca in any capacity. “Are you mad at me?” Chloe asks with a delicate softness that only makes Beca’s heart ache more.

In her mind’s eye, she plays out the variety of expressions Chloe could possibly be wearing. An expression designed to elicit the highest amount of sympathy in a willing audience. Outwardly, Beca stares hard at the notebook on her desk, reaching out to run her finger along the spiral. “No,” she murmurs. “I’m not mad at you.”

“Did I…” Chloe sighs, like she can’t quite bear to finish that question. But Chloe, as resilient as ever, pushes through, though she doesn’t finish the question. “Beca, please just look at me.”

Beca bites her lip but she complies nonetheless, taking her time to drag her eyes up to Chloe’s face.

She hates that she immediately wants to break into a smile upon simply seeing Chloe’s face—a natural by-product of the happiness she usually feels upon seeing her best friend’s face, though her more recent emotions have obviously been veering towards the romantic.

But more than all of that—more than the positive emotions—she hates the hurt she sees there, especially knowing that she had actively contributed in some way.

“Did I do something?” Chloe asks rather quickly. Nervously. Her hands come up to grip her own arms, hugging herself. “Did I do something to you to make you…”

“To make me what?”

“Like this,” Chloe says quickly. “Like you can’t stand being around me.”

 _It’s not you_ , Beca thinks. _It’s me and I’m so sorry._ “It’s…nothing,” Beca says evasively. “I…” Her eyes narrow as her brain catches up with the rest of her emotions. She fully processes that Chloe is in her room. After school. On a nice evening. “Didn’t you have plans today? With Tom?”

A blush rises on Chloe’s cheek at the mere mention of his name, as usual. And as usual, Beca finds herself reacting viscerally with something akin to nausea. “I cancelled,” Chloe admits. “I wanted to see you. It’s been a while since—”

“—Well, you’ve seen me.” Beca tries not to let some of the acidity seep into her tone because Chloe doesn’t deserve it, but it does anyway. _Too late_. Beca sighs. “I have homework to do.”

Chloe brightens. “Great! So do I. We can do it together.”

Chloe’s chipper tone, while normally something that Beca finds charming and attractive, grates on her nerves today. Beca glances at Chloe out of the corner of her eye. It’s then that she notices Chloe’s full backpack resting on the floor by her feet. “Don’t you have to do it with Tom? Like you guys normally do? He made that pretty clear.”

“I don’t _have_ to do anything,” Chloe says in a tone that Beca can’t identify. She doesn’t know if she has the energy to identify anything at this point.

Beca grits her teeth. “I still think you should go.”

“Why?” Chloe challenges. When Beca doesn’t respond, Chloe continues, this time with an angry tone. “Do you know how worried I am about you? What’s going on? Why are you avoiding me? Is it Tom? Did he say something to you?” The way Chloe says his name then is so distinct that it makes Beca’s ears perk up. It reminds Beca of so long ago—of Chloe immediately demanding the names of people who had hurt Beca’s feelings.

Her own knight in shining armor.

Beca exhales noisily and finally meets Chloe’s eyes head-on. “Chloe, _no_. We’re not doing this right now.”

Blue eyes flash like lightning. “Oh, well at least you’re looking at me now.”

“Chloe,” Beca says, exasperated at the bitterness in Chloe’s tone. It is absolutely well-deserved, but the sting makes Beca’s hackles rise nonetheless. “Come on.”

“No, I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s been going on with you.” Chloe literally stomps her foot on the ground. “I swear it, Beca Mitchell.”

Chloe kind of looks like she might stomp her foot again. Instead, she crosses her arms and stares at Beca defiantly.

It’s like the dam breaks all at once. Beca bursts out laughing at both the sight and the sound. “Did you just—? A foot stomp? Really?”

Chloe freezes, like she isn’t quite sure what’s going on. “Oh, I…” The mild confusion in her eyes causes Beca to smile again, unable to hide her own adoration for her best friend even if she tried.

(Which she has been. Trying, at least.)

For a moment, it is finally silent in Beca’s room. Chloe’s stance softens and she is suddenly staring at Beca with a different kind of expression on her face. “What?” Beca asks, not realizing that she has the tiniest smile on her face still.

“There you are,” Chloe says affectionately. “My favorite smile.”

Beca blinks, feeling the sudden urge to _cry_. All kinds of emotion well up inside her, each warring for some kind of dominance; each warring for attention. Beca feels like Chloe is really looking at her for the first time in a while.

It also occurs to Beca that they’re finally alone and Beca has no idea what to do.

“Stop,” Beca says quickly. She averts her gaze. “Stop doing that.”

Chloe’s confusion is immediately visible. New tension grows palpable between them. “Stop doing what?”

“Stop…” Beca gestures wildly. “Doing those things. Saying those things that make me…” she trails off, licking her lips. The air feels thick. Difficult to breathe. “Stop,” she whispers.

Her heart races uncomfortably, like what Beca imagines a heart attack to feel like. Or if she’s being less dramatic, what she imagines a panic attack to be.

“Beca,” Chloe murmurs. “You can talk to me. Please, you’re scaring me.” She steps closer, right in front of Beca. Beca sees Chloe’s annoyingly cute socks in her line of vision and slowly lifts her head. “Hi,” Chloe says softly upon catching Beca’s eyes with her own. “Beca,” she starts. “It’s okay.”

 _Is it?_ Beca thinks. _Will it ever be?_

It’s then that Beca realizes how close they’re standing. How nice Chloe smells. How much softer her sweater looks up close. The very light freckles on Chloe’s face, now faded compared to how prominent they had seemed during the summer months.

 _I love you so much_ , Beca thinks, her traitorous mind breaking down every last confine as usual. _I don’t know what that means, but I know that it’s true._

Beca isn’t sure what comes over her then.

(She kind of knows, but still. It’s easier being ignorant to her thought processes.)

In reality, it feels like the oddest fog passing over her brain while her heart beats with startling clarity. Her fingers graze Chloe’s cheek before she realizes what is happening and her lips meet Chloe’s with force that surprises both of them. Beca feels the tension leave her body immediately replaced by the most peculiar warmth—a warmth that fills her chest unexpectedly and so wholly that her body all but sags into Chloe’s.

To her surprise, just as she is about to pull back, Chloe’s hand comes up to cup the back of her head while the other hand curls around her hip with, Beca realizes with a jolt of fire to her chest, stark possessiveness and protectiveness. For a few blissful moments, Chloe’s lips move in tandem with her own, as soft as Beca always imagined. The initial shock of experiencing her first kiss wears off, but…

Chloe is _kissing_ her back. Chloe is kissing her and Chloe is not moving away except—

She does.

Chloe finally moves back, their lips separating with suddenness and abruptness that leaves Beca reeling.

“Oh my God,” Beca says immediately. Her throat feels tight and her voice is high and rough with the fear that courses through her body. “God, Chloe, I—”

“You just kissed me,” Chloe interrupts. Her voice trembles even as she continues. “ _You_ kissed _me_ , Beca.”

There is something more than accusation in her tone. There is a hint of desperation that Beca recognizes all too well and further, something almost foreign in terms of their interactions with each other. Chloe has never sounded _unsure_ or insecure when talking to Beca. The fact that she did just then breaks Beca’s heart a little bit.

“I’m…” Beca swallows. Pushes down the emotion threatening to spill over. She isn’t even sure what there is to really _say._ All she can think about is how Chloe pulled away first—essentially pushed her away. It stings more than Beca had anticipated even though it had been what she entirely expected. “I know. Chloe, please, just listen."

“I’m dating Tom,” Chloe responds immediately. “I’m dating Tom and I can’t…you can’t just spring this on me and just…” Chloe’s eyes well up with tears and Beca feels her own eyes sting at the sight. “I can’t _cheat_ on him.”

“We didn’t,” Beca says quickly. Desperately. “Chloe, please, can we just…” Beca feels the last false shred of happiness finally crumble away as she sees the despair in Chloe’s eyes.

 _She doesn’t feel the same way_.

_She never did._

_She was just caught up in the moment._

“I don’t know what I expected,” Beca says in a small voice. “Fuck,” she murmurs, running her hands through her hair. “I’m sorry.”

She feels so fucking embarrassed.

Chloe hesitates. “Beca, wait.”

“No, you should just go. You should go and just.” Beca turns back to her desk and grips the edge of her chair tightly. “Just go do your dumb homework and go be with your boyfriend. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I just need time—”

“Chloe, _now_.”

The way Beca’s voice rings around her bedroom weighs heavier than the silence that follows. She thinks she hears Chloe sniffle once, but she can’t bear to look. She can’t bear to see Chloe’s expression and even more viscerally, the metaphorical imagery of Chloe finally crushing the last pieces of her already-shattered part as she leaves Beca’s bedroom.

The door clicks quietly, but the sound still makes Beca jump. Unfortunately, not like a movie, these end credits close out with nothing more than a whimper from her own mouth.

She finally allows herself to crumble, finally unable to outrun the magnitude of her emotions.

Not like running had worked very well before.

* * *

**Chloe  
** _I shouldn’t have left, i’m sorry_

That’s the text message Beca receives the next morning.

**Beca  
** _I wanted you to go_

It’s one of the few lies Beca has ever told Chloe over the span of their eleven-year friendship.

**Beca  
** _I’m sorry too_

She bites her lip at the added-on text, sending it on impulse because she doesn’t want Chloe to be upset with her. Whether she’s apologizing for the kiss, for her feelings, or for chasing Chloe out of her bedroom, she’s not sure at this point.

It doesn’t matter, however. Chloe doesn’t reply; doesn’t even call her out on it.

* * *

Beca goes a few days with some relative quiet in her life. She drags herself around aimlessly doing her best not to be too rocked with guilt and discord as her mind traitorously replays the kiss at unfortunate moments.

“Beca, _wait_!”

Beca does her best to steady herself and she takes a breath. It does feel like self-sabotage, knowing that Chloe is equally likely to spend time at this specific spot— _their_ spot—so Beca supposes a part of her wanted so badly to just see Chloe’s face again. Just to see if Chloe would be disgusted or upset with her.

All she sees is desperation written across Chloe’s face. The same desperation that had been on Chloe’s face just a few days ago in her bedroom. Since then, Beca had been avoiding her as best as possible, weaving around people whenever the opportunity presented itself (which was often, due to Beca’s smaller stature).

Beca had never been so grateful for crowded high school hallways. Blending in and being nearly invisible never felt so good.

“We need to talk,” Chloe says quietly. “You know we do.”

“There’s…” Beca presses her fingers tightly into the metal bar in front of her, unable to look at Chloe directly. She should have expected Chloe to come here. Self-sabotage, she supposes. “Nothing to talk about.”

“That’s crap and you know it.”

Beca refuses to acknowledge that. “I can’t right now, Chlo.”

“Please,” Chloe says, a bit closer than before. “You…” Chloe sighs. “You can’t just kiss me like that and—and—” Biting frustration seeps into her tone. “I shouldn’t have left you alone like that,” Chloe whispers after a moment of silence. “But there’s no way you can just expect me to ignore what happened between us.”

Beca takes a brief moment to marvel over how Chloe somehow manages to be good with words. Or at least that she manages to get words out at all. It’s something Beca envies.

“I’m trying so hard to understand, Beca,” Chloe murmurs, taking a step closer.

Beca continues to focus on anything but Chloe. “There’s nothing to understand. I made a mistake. You can forget about it.”

The air seems to still around them. Beca can hear the shouts of their peers, sharp and crisp in the brisk, chilly air.

Finally, Chloe responds, voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want to forget about it, Beca.”

That makes Beca look at Chloe. She twists so sharply and quickly that she think something cracks in her neck, but she brushes off the brief twinge that runs through her body. “Why?” she asks, hating how weak her voice sounds. “You should, it’s for the be—”

“I don’t want to forget about it,” Chloe repeats, firmer than before.

“Why?” Beca asks quickly as curiosity and hope win out.

Chloe says nothing, simply watching Beca with a near-inscrutable expression. Finally, she sucks in a breath. “Why did _you_ kiss _me_?” she asks, in lieu of responding, like it’s all the response Beca needs. The challenge in Chloe’s voice is familiar. It makes Beca’s heart race. She resists the urge to reach out and grasp onto Chloe’s forearms or shoulders to steady herself. Instead, Beca forces herself to keep her eyes on Chloe steadily.

In that moment, Beca just wants Chloe to steal the words right from her mind. She wants Chloe to speak so she doesn’t have to—Chloe _has_ to know at this point. She has to know, there’s no real reason for her not to know. It becomes evident that Chloe isn’t going to let her off the hook so easily. Beca sighs. “You know why,” she finally murmurs. “You _know_ ,” she presses.

Chloe’s eyes flash with emotion—finally something akin to the familiar passion that Beca has come to know over the years. It sends Beca’s heart into a tangle of emotions as she attempts to steady her own breathing. She could go on. She could keep talking. She feels the urge—she recognizes it in its rarity—course through her with startling sincerity. _You know why_ , her own words echo back at her. _Tell her_ , she begs herself. _Please_.

_I like you._

_I’m in love with you._

_I love you._

“Then you know why, too,” Chloe finally says after a long silence.

Beca’s eyes must do something—she feels some muscle in her face twitch—because Chloe takes an immediate step back after the words leave her mouth.

“Chloe,” Beca breathes, like it’s the first breath of pure air she has taken in and expelled in a long time. _Tom,_ Beca thinks frantically. _But Tom is—it can’t be—_

“I—I should go. But—um.” Chloe shifts, drawing her lower lip between her teeth as she assesses Beca once more. Beca doesn’t dare breathe, wondering if Chloe is going to kiss her—whether Chloe will kiss her first this time. Or if Chloe will hug her. Or if Chloe will say _more_. She longs to ask more questions, say more words, but she’s too afraid of the thick air between them suddenly.

Chloe finally takes a breath; she finally takes a step back and lifts her hand in a half wave, like she realizes she needs to leave. “I have to go,” she repeats. “But I...Beca,” Chloe murmurs. She lifts her hands together, like she might take the necessary steps to close the distance between them, but she casts Beca a sad expression, clenching her hands into fists and drawing them close to her chest. It is so vulnerable and unexpected for Chloe that Beca has no idea what words could possibly come out of her mouth then. “Don’t give up on me.”

That alone steals Beca’s breath from her once more. She can do nothing more than nod, because how can she even _fathom_ the thought. It had been nice to indulge in the possibility of not loving Chloe Beale—not being with her, even as friends—but this reality, however half-formed is more than Beca could have ever dreamed of.

With that, Chloe finally twists and darts away from under the bleachers. Beca watches her go with bated breath, and when she finally exhales, she watches the way the air condenses in front of her, like a flurry of thoughts and emotions finally making themselves known in Chloe’s wake.

She breathes, allowing herself to think of their shared kiss in Beca’s bedroom just days ago. Maybe even a week now.

“I won’t,” she replies, speaking to nobody except the ghostly presence of the memories past, present, and future.

And she finally feels like the future—whatever sequels may follow—might not look so bleak.


End file.
